


Boundaries

by carrionkid



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Daryl has PTSD, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s07e08 Hearts Still Beating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: This is gay and sweet. Basically this is just "cuddling makes good stress relief". It takes place after 7x08. This isn't related to my other darus fics, this takes place in the canon TV show series of events, the other ones are just lighthearted gay speculation that take place in the canon universe but have no place in the actual events of the show.--Daryl’s sitting on the couch with his knees pulled in tight to his body, his arms are crossed over his knees and he’s leaning his head against them. He hasn’t said a word since the last of his family filtered out of the room. They stopped in one by one for the entire day up until a couple of hours ago, almost like they were on a watch rotation, and Daryl can’t help the phrase ‘suicide watch’ from coming to his mind. Now, it’s quiet. The silence makes it hard to ignore how much his entire body aches, a brutal bone-deep ache. His eyes keep darting around the room, refusing to focus on anything for more than a few seconds.





	

Daryl’s sitting on the couch with his knees pulled in tight to his body, his arms are crossed over his knees and he’s leaning his head against them. He hasn’t said a word since the last of his family filtered out of the room. They stopped in one by one for the entire day up until a couple of hours ago, almost like they were on a watch rotation, and Daryl can’t help the phrase ‘suicide watch’ from coming to his mind. Now, it’s quiet. The silence makes it hard to ignore how much his entire body  _ aches,  _ a brutal bone-deep ache. His eyes keep darting around the room, refusing to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. 

 

Paul’s quietly writing in a notebook open on his lap, sitting on the other side of the couch with a deliberate gap between them. Daryl glances at the notebook every few seconds and from what his brain actually chooses to register, he can tell that it’s leatherbound and lineless. He can’t make out what the other man is writing, but he’s not sure if that’s because he can’t physically read right now or if Paul’s handwriting is just  _ that bad _ . He wants to scream, or something, anything, just to stop the world from being so  _ quiet, _ but he doesn’t think he could move if he tried.

 

“What’s wi’ tha book?” It’s strange to hear his own voice after so long, but at least it isn’t  _ quiet  _ anymore. Paul closes it slowly and sets it down on his lap, Daryl can see that it’s almost three quarters full, with bits of paper sticking out.

 

“It’s one of the only things I have from Before.” Paul pauses, then grins, “That, and the jacket.”

 

Daryl’s voice is still soft, but he hopes it’s obvious that he’s joking, “Ya mean ya wore that out in  _ public? _ ”

 

“You’re one to talk, Mr. I-Cut-The-Sleeves-Off-All-My-Shirts.” Paul smirks at him.

 

“Tha’s different.” 

 

Paul opens the book back up and starts to write again. The pencil strokes sound different this time, longer, more hurried and rhythmic, not slow and deliberate like before. 

 

“Why’d’ya save it?”

 

“It was a gift.”

 

“Pretty important gift.”

 

Paul smiles down at it, “I never really used it Before, it just sat on my bookshelf and I looked at it and felt bad about never using it but I still never started using it. But then everything happened and I just grabbed it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I just wanted something,” Paul’s smile fades and he looks like he’s sizing up the situation, trying to strategize, he puts on a neutral expression and adds, “Something to remember my boyfriend by.” It’s a calculated risk, one he had to make pretty much every time he met someone new Before and one that he, unfortunately, kept having to make After. He’s pretty sure Daryl’s safe, but you can’t really be sure.

 

“You ever see him again?”

 

The response is casual, candid, and Paul is unbelievably thankful for it. Some people get very  _ weird  _ about the fact that he’s gay, even if it’s in an amicable, albeit uncomfortable, way.

 

“Yes... No... I don’t know.” 

 

It’s not really a response and Daryl looks confused, so he continues, “Fuck, I’ve seen him a thousand times. There’s a walker with his hair, or his eyes, or one wearing a shirt I swear I bought him. Sometimes I kill ‘em, sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I pretend he’s still out there, hiding out somewhere nice, and he’s happy and he’s moved on. I don’t wanna think that he’s still looking for me, ‘cos I’m not looking for him.” 

 

Daryl makes a noise of acknowledgement and they lapse back into silence. Paul keeps making quick marks on the paper and Daryl’s pretty sure he’s drawing. He almost asks about it, but the notebook seems like something private, something sacred. Paul stops and starts a few times, before finally closing the book and setting it down on the wobbly coffee table in front of them.

 

He takes a deep breath before asking, “Can I touch you?”

 

“What?” 

The reply is sharp and immediate, but Paul figures that it’s more of Daryl being Daryl than Daryl being angry.

 

“You seem anxious. It looked like it helped with Rick and Michonne.” He explains, hands held up in a sign of good faith. It’s true, almost everyone couldn’t keep their hands off of him, but it wasn’t exactly  _ bad.  _ He shuts his eyes in remembrance.

 

_ Rick’s hands on his shoulders, thumbs moving over his skin. Rick blinking and blinking and blinking like he was trying to convince himself that Daryl was really there.  _

 

_ Michonne pressing their foreheads together, holding both his hands at once, eyes soft with promises of revenge.  _

 

_ Maggie’s hands running through his hair, fingernails barely scratching his scalp, whispering ‘it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault’ as he cries. _

 

_ Tara giving him a fistbump, then hugging him as tight as she can, lifting him up off the ground just slightly. _

 

_ Carl burying his head in Daryl’s chest, as he sways them both from side to side.  _

 

_ Sasha smiling and giving a little salute.  _

 

“So?” Paul’s looking at him and concern shines through his attempt at neutrality.

 

“Why’d’ya do it?”

“Well, I consider you a friend, and I’d like to help you out.”

 

“How’d’ya figure we’re friends?”

 

“You could’ve killed me, or left me for the walkers, or locked me up again, or raided Hilltop after I took you here. In my books, that counts as friendship.” Paul laughs.

 

“Ya got some standards,  _ Rovia. _ ” Daryl finds himself smiling, then weighing the pros and cons of the offer, “Sure.”

 

Paul closes the small gap between them, “What do you want me to do?”

 

It’s a weird question, not exactly the kind that Daryl’s ever been asked. He tries to think of what feels nice, but comes up blank, then moves onto what doesn’t make him flinch. 

 

“Dunno.” It’s not a lie, but he feels like it’s not an answer either.

 

“Okay.” Paul nods as he says it, “We can figure it out together. Boundaries, y’know?” 

 

Daryl swallows hard, then nods.  _ Boundaries.  _ That’s an entirely new fucking concept, and a kind of overwhelming one at that.

 

“I’m gonna touch you, okay? Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

 

Paul puts both hands on Daryl’s shoulders, then starts to rub them in circles. It kind of hurts, but it makes him feel more real in a fucked up kind of way. Daryl makes a low humming noise; the sensation is nice, Rick’s touch is almost always too light, like he’s worried Daryl’ll break if he presses too hard. Paul’s hands move down, just barely ghosting over his scars, and Daryl jerks away. 

 

Paul holds his hands up again, “It’s okay. I won’t do that again, okay?”

 

Daryl nods like he’s in a trance. Paul is so nonchalant about the fact that Daryl just freaked out, there were no questions or looks of pity. It’s weird, but welcome.  _ Boundaries.  _ That’s a boundary.

 

“Let me know if you’re ready again.” Paul doesn’t move away and Daryl’s thankful because he’s not sure if he could initiate this again if there was that much space between them. Daryl focuses on calming himself, breathing in and out like the book recommended. 

 

“Okay. ‘M ready.” He stretches out his legs, stiff and half asleep, then moves to sit facing the other man. Paul takes his right hand and slowly opens Daryl’s clenched fist. Little marks from his fingernails were pressed into his flesh. Paul cups Daryl’s open hand in his own and presses his thumb into the center of Daryl’s palm. Then, he uses it to knead little circles in the calloused flesh. 

 

Daryl yawns, then leans forward, pressing his forehead against Paul’s chest. Paul lays Daryl’s hand down on the couch.

 

“Can I touch your hair?” 

 

Daryl makes a rumbling sound of affirmation into Paul’s shirt. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

He can feel Paul’s fingers running through his hair, then Daryl moves his right hand up to his hair. He curves his fingers like claws, then circles them through his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp like Maggie did. Paul gets the message and starts copying him, then he lets his hand drop down by his side. He can feel his eyes getting heavy and he puts his hands on Paul’s waist to brace himself because he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to be conscious.

 

Then, the next thing he knows, the movement stops. Paul starts laughing and Daryl sits up suddenly, instantly defensive.

 

“Did you just fall asleep?”

 

“No.” Daryl crosses his arms, he’s sleepy enough to be immature.

 

“Yeah. You did.” Paul laughs again, then looks down at his button up, “And you drooled on me!”

 

“Wasn’t asleep.” Daryl grumbles under his breath.

 

“Then I guess you just like drooling on me for fun?” 

 

Paul stands up and stretches, then offers a hand to Daryl. He takes it, Paul pulls him up to a standing position but his legs are wobbly and half asleep. Paul catches him as he lurches forward.

 

“And you say you aren’t tired!”

 

“Only said I wasn’t  _ asleep. _ ” Daryl yawns, which really isn’t helping his argument.

 

“Well, so you can be  _ not-asleep  _ in an actual bed.” Paul guides them over to the bed on the other side of the small trailer. It was empty, for now, but the housing situation definitely had to be reviewed eventually. But, that could wait. Daryl flops over onto the bed on his back, then stretches out.

 

“Fuuuuck…. This is amazin’.” Daryl slides farther onto the bed, “I never wanna hafta sleep on a floor again.” He shifts around until his back is pressed to the wall, it feels safer to have something definite and solid at his back instead of having his mind fill in the gaps with unlikely threats. He yawns again and Paul turns to leave.

 

“Wait.” Daryl’s voice is quiet, but Paul still turns back to him and cocks his head, waiting for the rest of the statement.

 

Daryl’s tired enough that he’s completely lost his filter, “Wanna stay? Yer warm ‘n’ soft. An’ real nice.” 

 

Daryl’s giving him one of the most dopey, yet sweet grins in the world and Paul can feel his resolve melting. This is probably just a product of Daryl being half asleep and also finally out of his adrenaline high, but it’s nice.

 

“Fine. But first, I have to turn the lanterns off.” 

 

Even with Daryl pressed up against the wall, they barely both fit in the bed. Daryl presses his forehead against Paul’s side and Paul starts running his hands through the other man’s hair again. After falling asleep, Daryl reflexively curls in on himself and his hands rest together in front of his lips, almost like he’s praying. He almost looks relaxed, and it’s kind of jarring to see Daryl so out of character, but it’s nice. 

 

Paul stops the movement as a test; Daryl stays still. Paul slips out of the bed as quietly as he can and grabs the notebook off the desk. He opens to the page where he left his pencil, there’s enough moonlight that he can still kind of see. Then, he flips to a new page and starts sketching again. The last picture turned out okay, but he’d rather draw this version of Daryl. 

 

-

 

When Daryl wakes up, he’s alone. He sits up, blurry eyed, and rubs his face, trying to get himself to stay in the here and now. When he stands up, he sees a little sketch of himself, eyes closed with a small smile. It’s weird to look at it, it feels so foreign to see himself  _ happy,  _ but it’s definitely him. 

 

There’s a scrawled message in the corner:  _ with maggie, be back later. sleep some more, you deserve it :)  _

 

He looks at it for a second longer, then folds it up and tucks it into the front pocket of his shirt.


End file.
